


none know your nature

by dulcebase



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Bad Advice, Gen, Vampire Politics, implied man-pain, not-quite enemies to not-quite friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulcebase/pseuds/dulcebase
Summary: The Count of Skingrad has friends in odd places. Historically, however, they weren't always particularly friendly.
Relationships: Vicente Valtieri & Janus Hassildor
Kudos: 16





	none know your nature

* * *

_... None know your nature;_   
_save Us_   
_None share your fate;_   
_save Us_   
_None welcome you as kin;_   
_save Us._

— excerpt from the_ Manifesto Cyrodiil Vampyrum  
_ Lucan Statilius, 3e 23

* * *

With undeath, as with life, there always has to be something political about it. The politics of unlife, as it were, are what brings the count of Skingrad to that Great Forest estate, an inconveniently placed manor somewhere between the Orange Road and the Red Ring, around a day and a half’s carriage ride from where his wife lies comatose. Cyprian Andronicus, lord of the manor and acting elder and leader of the Order Cyrodiil Vampyrum, cared very little about that last part.

It’s Count Hassildor’s luck that Cyprian keeps these meetings infrequent, though he suspects it’s more due to difficulty in organization than much else. He supposes it’s more the fault of the company itself that keeps them short. He’s sure half of them have already left - Jak usually (for what he can tell is usual, after so few meetings) disappears as soon as he possibly can, and Nanette has little love for socializing outside of the mandatory. If he’s truthful, the count himself is waiting only for Hadrian, and, as the lord of Crowhaven is deep in conversation with their host, he assumes it will take a while.

He leaves his goblet, scarcely touched, on the table as he rises, and manages to catch Hadrian’s attention long enough to give a swift motion to the main door. The lord Lovidicus does not respond; no more, at least, than giving a short nod. For a moment, Janus almost believes he’s home free.

A shape splits from the gaggle of shadows in the far corner, and he has not noticed until it lays a gentle hand on his forearm. He’s been tailed until the point where the two of them are alone in the main hall.

"Do you mind?“ it asks, voice gentle and careful and lilting. "I’ve been meaning to speak with you for a while now.”

Impish is the word most often used to describe Vicente Valtieri – he stands a foot shorter than the sword on his back and hardly wide enough to carry it. It is the expression, however, that gives him the comparison; everpresent smile that cuts through the sharp gauntness of his face is rife with something too often unreadable, shown now, as they all are, being fed, in vibrant color. His hand is still pale on the darkness of the count’s brocade sleeve. In that moment, he has never trusted anyone less.

"Quickly,“ Janus says, and regrets it the moment the words hit the air.

"We should take this privately,” the man continues, voice dropping, “more for your sake than for mine. I’m sure you have at least a few moments. Truthfully, I wouldn’t want to discuss anything out in the open here, but-”

“It’s fine,” he responds brusquely.

“Excellent. Come, follow me.”

He doesn’t care to think on how Vicente knows the elder’s home so well. In truth, Janus had assumed they got along poorly. Then again, considering the common knowledge on the state of his character, perhaps that disdain was precisely the reason why the assassin (for he was an assassin, and they all knew what sort, as silent as he was bound to keep about it) knew. Up the stairs from the main hall, in the left wing, he stops before a door and opens it with a brief wave of the hand.

The lavish interior, in all chestnut furniture and burgundy tapestries, lit by amber candlelight, would be suspicious if he considered his new, temporary host more of a fool. It dawns on Janus too late that he doesn’t know the man well enough to call his safety into anything but reasonable doubt.

The Breton sits on a chair turned out to the room, lit by the candle on the table to his left. He motions to the identical one opposite. The count does not take his hospitality.

“I won’t mince words. I know you’re a busy man, clearly with no time to spare for me, but I don’t think anyone else would speak to you about it otherwise. Deepest apologies if this is a bit forward.” Vicente offers him a small smile, though it bears little comfort. “I know what you’re dealing with,” he says simply, “in regards to your wife.”

It takes all of Count Hassildor’s willpower not to leave the room entirely. It’s his control that keeps him from silencing the man manually, magically.

“What would you know about that, exactly?” He wants to know how. He does not ask.

“Only that she hasn’t coped nearly as well as you have. You can take a seat, you know. I’m afraid I find it terribly awkward to see you so stiff, my friend.”

They aren’t friends. Just as stiffly, Janus takes what has been offered. Lit fully by the candle between them, Vicente turns to him.

Their eyes make unwavering contact. He wants so badly to ask how, ask who’s told him. But then, asking a Brotherhood assassin where he gets his information doesn’t sound like the most productive of moves. Instead, he says, coldly: “I’m afraid I won’t be needing your … services, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Goodness no!” The gesture stops midway between them, as if he’d meant to reach out, then reconsidered. “I’m here to solicit advice, not a job. Surely you don’t think me that tasteless.” Janus does. He stays silent. Vicente retreats back to himself. “ … I assume the Order doesn’t know.”

“It would not be … beneficial to tell them.”

“Good call.” Something about it almost sounds sympathetic. “I’m sorry. It’s a terrible thing to go through. It won’t make my advice any easier.” He smiles softly as if meant to betray the horror of it. “But how selfish can you be, making her death about you?”

Janus’s blood freezes in his veins. The words die in his throat, suffocated by how it closes in rage. Were he a more violent man, he’d quell any thought of the accusation with a swift action. Were he stronger, he’d argue the point. He is not, and he is silent in his fury.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand me,” Vicente continues, and it’s softer, somehow. It sounds… _sincere_, which is what calls it all into question in the first place. There is nothing about this man that is trustworthy. The fact that he is a hair’s breadth away from suggesting the most foul sort of murder certainly doesn’t help his case. Somehow, there is no sign of ill intent on any part of his frame, nor any syllable of his word. It almost makes Janus wonder if he’ll have to truly end this. The thought does not leave his mind. When Vicente leans forward, he leans back. “I doubt you even realize. It would be quite romantic, you know, if she wouldn’t hate it. But this isn’t about her wishes, not truly, is it? I’m afraid it isn’t my place to say.”

Yet he says it. He doesn’t have to say it outright to be more than clear.

“What do you know,” the count asks icily, “about the wishes of a woman you’ve never met?” _About my **wife**_, he adds, silently, bitterly.

“I know she’s willing to die for them, and I’m sure you do, too, under all that denial. I simply wondered whose wishes you act on, nothing more. If they were hers, you wouldn’t be nearly so angry.”

“I am not-”

“Denial is hardly a good look on anyone, my lord. Come. Let’s be civil.”

It’s rich to have civility called down to you from the pulpit when the preacher has wickedness in every hungry, elongated fang. If it’s all in jest, it fails to be remotely funny.

“I will be civil once you tell me what exactly you’re suggesting as advice — Valtieri, was it?” It’s a low-hanging fruit, a power move he would normally have more grace than to pull; it has no visible effect, and the count can only hope that it will sink in later which one of them has Cyprian’s ear. As if it gives him some superiority over the clear issue of seniority. He barrels on: “If I am, as you said, a busy man, then certainly I have no time for talking around it. Be brief, or do not waste my time further.”

Of course it’s that which gets a reaction, the smile everpresent gaining life for just a brief moment as a glimmer through the eyes. He’s starting to think the back-and-forth is exactly what the price is for this selfless advice. The advice goes like this: “I am telling you to stop prolonging her suffering. Take from it what you will.”

“You’re telling me to kill her.”

“Is that what I_ said?”_ Something about the tone, cold and steel under its gentle flow, brings the nature of it all back into sharp focus. He is late to meet Hadrian to head back south. He is speaking alone in a room with an assassin and not a soul knows where he is. Were any physical harm to be a threat to him, he could condense his soul into crystal, reflect the damage until he met his own end. There has been no physical threat. The assassin has told him to consider killing his wife.

He does not have to say it outright for the message to be more than clear.

Janus looks back up, and he’s still talking.

“She would rather die than be blessed as we are. That is her choice to make. You seem to have elected to let her die, without realizing, perhaps, that it will not happen. What I suggest is one of two options: you let her die, or she does not live as we do. Either one. I believe you’ll find that meets the standards of your sentiment while still adhering to her wishes.” He does not make it an accusation, but it feels like one nonetheless, a scathing, searing: you chose to let her die when there are so many alternatives, you chose to let her live when all she wanted was —

After some time, the count says: “…what reason do you have to possibly care about the balance of my needs and my wife’s dying wish?” And the smile he is met with is almost serene, now.

"Look at yourself, Janus. Look at who you are, what positions you hold, whose favor you hold, what you mean to this world. Tell me, and please be truthful, do you think, if the truth was hard, there would be anyone else willing to challenge your judgement enough to tell you?”

The Count of Skingrad does not respond. He falls silent.

He is silent the entire way through to Crowhaven.

**Author's Note:**

> i've always liked the idea that, because the brotherhood is completely apolitical, the whole reason why these two both know each other and are on good terms is because vicente has nothing to gain politically and they're able to almost talk like real people
> 
> this might evolve into a series. idk. i love these two.
> 
> all npcs mentioned are present in lore, save cyprian & nanette; the former's an oc, the latter is a reference to the webcomic prequel.


End file.
